The Block Raised Me, The Books Saved Me
People used to call me “Bookworm,” and not in a cute, nerdy way. I mean, I was the kid walking through Harlem with a backpack full of dope and a paperback in my hand like it was a passport out of the neighborhood. My name’s Dee, and I wasn’t supposed to make it out. But I had other plans.
See, I grew up where ambition had to fight for air. Rent was always late, the corner store knew my mom’s EBT card number by heart, and the only thing more common than sirens were side-eyes. But I had a dream: I wanted to be a professor. Not a rapper, not a baller—a professor. The kind who wore tweed jackets and said things like “epistemological framework” without flinching.
I was a straight-A student, which in my neighborhood was like being a unicorn with a library card. My friends would clown me:
“Yo Dee, why you always got a book?”
“Because I’m trying to rewrite my story,” I’d say, flipping a page like I was flipping that work.
But don’t get it twisted—life wasn’t easy. My mom walked out on me when I was 11. I started selling heroin at the age of 12. I knew college wasn’t just going to fall into my lap. So I hustled. I sold dope like it was stock options and was damn good at it.
I had a number in my head: $739,000. That was the cost of an Ivy League education without me having to work while in school. I knew how I’d get it, and I got straight to it. That number kept me focused. Every time I wanted to buy something stupid like a chain or designer clothes, I’d whisper it to myself like a mantra. Seven-three-nine. That was my North Star.
One day, my guidance counselor asked, “Dee, what keeps you going?”
I looked her dead in the eye and said, “Hope, hustle, and a whole lotta dope heads.”
Fast forward a few years, and there I was—walking across the stage at Florida A&M University, bachelors in hand, robe flowing like I was levitating. I didn’t just survive—I thrived. I made it from the block to the books, from the court yards to the classroom.
And yeah, I still carry a book everywhere. Old habits die smart.
